


From Here to There

by Peril_in_Peace



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, References to Ego, Team as Family, The Expansion had Consequences
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-30 14:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11465772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peril_in_Peace/pseuds/Peril_in_Peace
Summary: Ego wasn’t just the worst father ever--his Expansion was an intergalactic weapon of mass destruction... and as far as Peter figures, he’s the one left holding the bag. And as Peter tries to clean up his father's mess, maybe he can work out some other stuff along the way.





	1. The Expansion

**Author's Note:**

> When I posted the first chapter for this, I actually had this thing almost completely written... and it was turning out much darker than I wanted. So I ended up going back to a fork in the plot and taking it in a bit of a different direction, that I like better--there's still a lot of crap to deal with, but I wanted to have more opportunities for healing, agency and relationship building. Maybe that's just where my head is right now. :) I may still end up finishing the dark!version sometime, but for now, I've changed the rating (there is still going to be swearing... but no sex and no graphic violence, so I think T is okay--if not please feel free to opine in the comments) and tags. Tags and relationships will continue to be updated with chapters.

 

When they got back to Berhert to salvage the  _ Milano  _ and he saw the blackened, rotting remains of Ego’s handiwork blooming from the surface of the small, forested planet, he knew it immediately for what it was. The others… they were confused… had there been a fire? Some kind of crash? Was the  _ Milano  _ damaged further? 

Peter just stared and stared at it, his mind wandering out to the thousands of other worlds he  _ knew _ had the same black scar now deteriorating on their surfaces. He had some inkling of how it worked and he  _ knew _ that whatever the black had touched was dead. And he closed his eyes slowly and imagined (or was it remembering?)  _ Ego _ expanding, worlds flashing in his mind. 

And for the first time in his very strange and rocky life, Peter sincerely wished he had never been born. 

He backed silently out of the old  _ Eclector’s  _ secondary bridge and plodded down the passageway toward the ship’s stern on autopilot, sliding down a grimy ladder and into the small hangar bay. 

He’d always liked this part of the ship. It was quiet and he could usually be alone. Most of the Ravager crew stayed out of the third quadrant when it came to day-to-day activity--it was mostly for storing cargo and this auxiliary hangar had been a dumping ground for defunct parts junkers for as long as Peter could remember. 

The first time he’d seen it disengage from the  _ Eclector _ , Peter had been ten. And he thought it was amazing. Yondu had explained,  _ “It’s jus’ small enough to touch down planetside, burly ‘nuff to handle the big stuff. Sometimes an M-ship just ain’t gon’ cut it.” _

_ “Does every Ravager ship break apart like that?” _ Peter had asked. Thinking about it, Peter remembered Yondu clenching his jaw a bit at the mention of “other Ravagers.” At the time, he thought it was because the question annoyed him, like so many other things Peter did. Now he knew better. Ravagers don’t deal in kids… back then, Peter’s presence and what it meant had probably still been a fresh wound. 

_ “Naw… some do… but the factions all have their own ways a’doin’ what needs doin’. If it ain’t somethin’ like this, it’s somethin’ else, works just as well. That’s the trick, kid. Whatever happens… ain’t no use waitin’ for the answer t’ up and bite ya in the ass. Just gotta figure it out. Best ya can.” _

“Figure it out…” Peter breathed. This wasn’t all just some nightmare he was going to wake up from in the morning. The black scar on Berhert was blessedly smaller than it could have been… but it was stark proof of the harsh reality. 

Across the galaxy and maybe even further, how many  _ people _ had been swallowed up because he… because he wanted to play  _ catch _ ? God, was he really such a child?

It hurt to think. He wanted to forget about the cloying ache deep in his stomach and the shaking in his hands that just wouldn’t stop. So he filled them. With junk. He worked. With the practice of a lifetime of ship’s chores, Peter slipped into a mindless, mechanical grind of hauling parts and clearing dusty crates from the far side of the hangar. 

When he was 14, his mouth got him in trouble. He back-talked Horuz on a job, and earned himself a fresh shiner and a week of hard labor. Peter could picture Yondu leaning over the railing on the upper gangway by the crane pulleys, smirking down at his younger self struggling to lift an awkward piece of scrap metal. 

_ “‘Bout time we put some muscle on them scrawny bones, anyway. See if we can’t tire the sass outta ya and grow you right up, boy.” _

Peter fought hard against the sting in his eyes and gritted his teeth, channeling any drip of emotion into pushing a half-stripped turbine across the floor. 

“ _ Move, _ you... mother…  _ fucker _ ,” he grunted, as it only inched painfully forward with a terrible screech. But he was working hard and fast, and by now, his hair and t-shirt were all sweaty and he was breathing heavily. It wasn’t budging.

He felt a light touch on his arm and his breathing slowed. Yeah… he  _ should  _ rest. Take a break… 

_ Wait… what? _

He turned and grabbed Mantis’ arm, pulling it away from him. “The hell?” Peter yelled at her. He didn’t mean to... he just… reacted…

She just stood stock still, staring at him, mouth agape. He swallowed hard and exhaled slowly, letting go of her arm and taking a step back. “Don’t do that,” he said softly. 

Mantis nodded slowly. “Alright.” She backed away from him, but instead of leaving, she sat down at the bottom of the wire mesh stairs leading up to the gangways above. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, folding her fingers together. She dropped her ear to her knees and stared at him. 

Peter decided to ignore her for the time being, wandering over to the workbench. He found a low-friction skidpad and went back over to the turbine, crouching with his back to it to lift up one end with the power in his legs, before quickly kicking the pad underneath with his heel. He wiped the grease from his hands onto his pants, then pushed the turbine again. It was still heavy, but it was moving, now sliding quietly across the metal floor plates.  

He got it to where it was going, then headed over to pick up another crate. 

“May I ask you a… personal question?” Mantis said. Peter looked at her sideways, hefting the box for a better grip. Mantis waited for a moment, then seemed to realize that even though he hadn’t said ‘yes,’ he didn’t say ‘no,’ either…

“What you are feeling... “ Peter dropped the crate, then slowly turned around to face her. He sat heavily on top of it. “I… have never felt it before and… I do not know what it is called,” she continued. “It is confusing… it is like many emotions all at once, but also like a single strong feeling. Would you please tell me?”

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair. Maybe if he didn’t answer right away, she would get deferential and take the question back, thinking she’d offended him. But no… the way she was looking at him, he knew that something was different about her. For a second, the thought that maybe the strong feelings she’d gotten from him were the cause sent a shudder of guilt through his gut… but the fact was, she’d been through some shit too. 

Maybe that was why he ultimately decided to answer her. He could address her curiosity, solve her mystery. He couldn’t do  _ him  _ right now… but someone else? Maybe that would be okay… 

“I’m… not sure…” he answered tentatively. He tried to think if he’d ever felt anything like this before. He unconsciously brought a shaky hand to his aching stomach and clenched his fingers into a tight ball. 

He had been eight. Sitting in an uncomfortable chair. It was a school day, but he was at the hospital instead. His mom was sleeping in the bed next to him and he was triumphantly watching  _ The Price is Right _ on the small black-and-white TV after painstakingly nudging the rabbit-ears to pick up CBS  _ perfectly _ .  

He looked over at his mom. She had turned on her side and was watching him. She looked so tired, but she had a peaceful, happy smile on her face. He leaned over and switched the TV off.

_ “Peter _ ,” she’d said, in her warm drawl _. “I want to tell you something. It’s gonna be hard for you to hear, but you just listen.” _

_ “You need something, ma?”  _ he’d asked, turning to properly face her. She shook her head.

_ “No baby, just listen, okay?”  _ Peter’d nodded, a little bit scared. His mother closed her eyes, and a tear trickled down toward her pillow. 

_ “I’m dyin’ Peter. I’m not gonna get better. And I don’t think it’s gonna take too much longer.”  _ She swallowed hard and opened her eyes. _ “I know I... and your grandpa and everybody else have been telling you to hope and that everything’s going to be okay… and baby, everything  _ will _ be okay, I promise you that… but... I’m gonna have to go. And I don’t think you oughta be blindsided by that, just because nobody’s got the guts to tell a kid the truth.” _

Peter remembered sniffling, but holding back the tears as he had realized she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t really already know, deep down. But hearing her say it? He’d crawled onto his mother’s hospital bed, careful of the monitor wires and her IV, and she scooched over as best she could to make a little room. And he’d tried not to cry as his stomach twisted into painful knots that took his breath away. He gripped his mother’s hand and felt her heartbeat behind him. He’d watched the clouds float by the third story window for what seemed like forever. 

_ “You’re sure, mom?” _

_ “Yeah, _ ” she said softly, kissing the top of his head. 

He’d listened to her breathe and tried to match her rhythm, so he wouldn’t forget to breathe himself.

“ _ I don’t feel so good, mom _ ,” he whispered. “ _ My tummy hurts. _ ” She’d tightened her grip on his hand. 

_ “I’m sorry, baby. You know, when your heart gets so fulla hurt that it bursts and breaks… really, really, breaks... the rest of you can’t help but feel it too. It’s called bein’ heartsick. And I’m so, so sorry. But I promise you, baby… I won’t lie… Sometimes it takes a long, long time… but it’ll get better. I promise.” _

Mantis lifted her head, looking him over. A worried expression mixing with her curiosity. Peter sniffed and cleared his throat. 

“Heartsick,” he said. “It’s not quite right… but it’s close… something like that… that’s what my mom called it.”

“I am sorry… that your heart is sick,” Mantis said quietly, dropping her gaze to her folded hands. 

Peter studied her for a moment, silently appreciating that she wasn’t offering to “help” or trying to be empathetic. He didn’t think he could handle that right now. He smiled a little. 

“When one is... heartsick, how do you feel better?” she asked. 

“You don’t, really,” he replied honestly. “All you can do is wait, until eventually you start to feel normal again… and even then, sometimes things will happen that make you remember and you go back to feeling like shit for a while... You can do things to try and take your mind off of it, but… it’s still there. You just get better at ignoring it or living with it. But eventually, it gets… less bad.”

“Do you ever feel like it would be better to not ignore it?” Mantis asked tentatively. “If you have… done something terrible, should you not… remember it and feel terrible?”

“Oh… no…” Peter sighed softly, mentally smacking himself in the forehead. Of course, this wasn’t about  _ his  _ feelings anyway...

“No?” said Mantis.

“No. Some people, maybe, who have done very bad things. But not you,” he felt a little like he was trying to reassure a small child who felt unjustly guilty about an imagined wrong. Peter wondered briefly if something had happened since he left the bridge.

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t done anything terrible. I know you feel like you have, but it was actually very brave of you to go up against him and help us. He was all you’ve known your whole life, and it would have been a lot easier not to…” Peter pushed off the crate and sat down next to her on the bottom step. 

“He was your… master.” The word left a bad taste in his mouth. “He was strong and powerful and you had no reason to ever believe that his big supervillain plan would ever really happen after…”  _ hundreds? Thousands…? _ He screwed his eyes shut. “So many…” Peter would  _ not _ call his… Ego’s other children… ‘failures.’ 

She looked over at him, but clearly didn’t know what to say. She gingerly laid her hand on his clothed knee, respectfully avoiding any bare skin. 

“Mantis… I’m sorry that your heart is sick,” Peter said, his voice hitching just a bit. “When I was little, my mom told me that sometimes it takes a  _ long  _ time, but it does get better. And she was right.” He paused, catching her eye. “You deserve to feel better. You know that, right?”

“Do you?” she asked.  _ Nope… forbidden territory, lady.  _

He looked down at his gunk-stained, human hands. “Still gotta figure that out.”

 

* * *

 

Rocket locked the  _ Quadrant  _ into geosynchronous orbit and immediately started fiddling with the ship’s computer. “Hey, Kraglin. This heap got a chemical spectroscope? We oughta find out what that black stuff is before we land.” Rocket paused, leaning around the pilot’s seat to look for Kraglin. The Xandarian was staring aft, distractedly. “Kraglin,” Rocket said again. 

“Huh? Yeah. Here.” He strode over to a panel and cautiously reached past Gamora who followed his movements to a flickering infoscreen. He looked at her, pointing at an input menu. “Might wanna run a tox scan, too.” Gamora nodded and Kraglin turned and jogged down the passageway off the bridge. Rocket shrugged. 

Gamora looked over the results of the scans. “It’s very… weird. But I don’t think it’s harmful. It’s organic, but it looks dead, whatever it is. There’s no sign of cellular activity, nor any toxins being emitted from the site.”

“Could it be some kind of blight? I once visited a world where a fungus destroyed a forest similar to this one… as well as crops. The population suffered greatly,” Drax said, gripping the headrest  of Rocket’s seat. 

“I don’t know…” Gamora said. 

“And there’s no population here to say what happened,” Rocket added. “Quill, what d’you--” He looked to his left at the main pilot’s seat, only to see Groot, leaning back with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. The Zune was propped upright between his little legs and he was holding one earbud up to the side of his head. Rocket looked back at the rest of the bridge as Kraglin meandered back in. 

“Where’s Quill?” Rocket asked him. Kraglin stopped short, a little surprised to suddenly find all eyes on him. 

“He’s uh--preppin’ the hangar,” Kraglin answered. Rocket looked at him suspiciously. 

“Then I will assist,” Drax stated, turning to leave the bridge. Kraglin winced and hesitantly held his hand up, clearly uncomfortable with stopping with the much larger man.

“Maybe jus’ let him be.”

Drax looked at the Ravager quizzically. 

“He seemed a little freaked when we got here,” Rocket mused. Drax quirked his brow, but had the good grace to let it go. 

Gamora didn’t. Rocket followed her gaze to Mantis, who seemed to be trying to make herself very small, standing uncertainly in a back corner of the bridge against a tall locker. 

“Mantis,” she said, more gently than Rocket expected. “Do you know what this is?” 

Mantis nodded, nervously tugging at the ends of her hair. She seemed to steel herself with a breath, and stepped forward a few paces. She looked at Gamora who nodded at her to continue. 

“It… it is Ego,” she said carefully. Rocket tensed, and felt Drax and Gamora do the same. Mantis shook her head violently. “It was…  _ was _ Ego, but it is dead now.”

“This… Expansion that you described on the planet?” Drax asked. 

Mantis nodded. “Peter was the only one of his children that was able to help him get this far--”

“He did NOT  _ help _ ,” Gamora all but growled, clearly trying not to lose her cool. Mantis looked at her feet. 

“You are right. I am sorry… I--”

“Huh…?” Rocket looked around the room, genuinely confused. “Look, all  _ I _ got was ‘Daddy’s a megalomaniac god trying to wipe out the galaxy and…  _ blah blah _ … light…  and  _ blah blah _ … battery’ from Quill durin’ the fight.” Rocket raised his voice in a prissy imitation of Peter. “You sayin’  _ that _ shit--” he pointed out the front viewport and Berhert. “Was  _ actually _ Ego tryin’ to  _ literally _ swallow up planets?”

“And…” Rocket put his hands up and glared at Mantis before looking between Drax and Gamora. “She  _ told _ you about this back on Ego? She  _ knew _ about it? That this was what he was planning, and she didn’t say anything until  _ when _ , exactly? ‘Till it was oh-so-conveniently just a little too  _ late _ ?” Rocket hissed. He was out of the co-pilot’s seat now, stalking over to Mantis. 

Drax put his hand in his path. “Rocket, you do not  _ know-- _ ”

“So it’s true,” he snarled. “So if  _ she’d _ sacked up in the first place  _ none _ of this d’ast mess woulda ever  _ happened _ ?” 

Before he could stop them, his thoughts drifted to Yondu. First, it was a flash of his disgusting smile… then his dead, frosted eyes. Rocket shivered involuntarily. 

He’d never seen Quill cry. Well… ‘cept that one time he got shot. But even Rocket had to grudgingly admit that those were manful tears of righteous  _ “that fuckface shot me! Fuck if it hurts, help me up so I can shoot the asshole back” _ anger. 

What Rocket had seen through the window of the airlock was soul deep pain. The kind that Rocket had felt once in his sentient life: When Groot… But he had Groot--a version of Groot--back. Yondu wasn’t comin’ back from this...

By the time the pressurization cycle finished, Quill had finally managed to get the space suit deactivated and was sitting against the bulkhead, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Yondu was laid carefully on the deck in front of him. 

Quill was filthy. His knuckles were scraped and bleeding, jacket scuffed and torn at. His hair was a few shades too dark, grimy with sweat and dirt. He lifted his head, and wiped his face with the heel of his hand, but all it did was smear the tears, blood and dirt together into a grotesque warpaint. His head fell back against the bulkhead and Rocket got the impression that the only reason Quill wasn’t losing his shit was that he was just too spent. 

Gamora had found a rag and gently cleaned Quill’s face, dabbing the blood from the gash down the left side of his face. Kraglin pushed past them and kneeled over Yondu. And Rocket had just watched through the window, muffled sounds and voices wafting in through the open hatch. 

He’d left them there, inside the hellpit crevasse in that planet.  _ Knowing  _ this would be the best case scenario. 

“ _ None _ of this had to happen,” Rocket said weakly, his accusatory finger falling to his side. Mantis bit her lower lip and wrung her hands. 

“Rocket,” Gamora started. “That’s not--”

“True?” Rocket shot back. “Fair?” Gamora glared at him, but didn’t answer. 

Suddenly feeling deflated, Rocket trudged back to the co-pilot seat and hopped up. He heard footsteps moving out of the bridge and Gamora calling weakly after her. 

Beyond that, the bridge fell silent. 

“I am Groot?” came from the floor at his side. Groot stood with the earbud cable in his hand, the Zune dragging from it behind him. With his other hand, he pointed out toward Berhert and the black smudge where forest used to be. 

“No, Quill’s sad because Yondu died, not because some forest--”

Rocket stopped short, a Very Bad Feeling building in his gut. “Guys… how big did bug girl say Dad’s expansion thing was?”

“She said that Ego planned to overtake thousands of worlds,” Drax said. 

Rocket pointed at Berhert through the plastisteel windows. “And that’s just one.”

“Who knows how much damage Ego could have done while he had Peter…” Gamora trailed off. 

“Plugged in?” Rocket added helpfully. She glared at him.

 


	2. Seeing and Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter processes the consequences of Ego's masterwork; Groot takes his mission seriously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One scene involving negative consequences of working with electrical systems without taking proper precautions. Not graphic... but if that bothers you, head's up.

“Peter.” Gamora was standing at the open upper-level hatch, eye level with him straddling the crane arm. 

“Yeah,” he huffed distractedly, shoving a tube of lubricant into his back pocket. He looked down at Mantis on the main floor, then balanced on one of the crane’s crossbars and reached up for the truss just above him, hanging from it. He kicked at one of the chains stuck in the pulley with both feet a couple of times before it finally jerked and came loose. He swung his weight back onto the crane arm and perched there, one hand still on the truss to steady him. 

“Try it again,” he said. Mantis nodded and turned back to the control panel, hitting a switch. The pulley ground and squealed, but it was working. 

Peter grinned, looking down on his working crane and functional hangar. In a heartbeat, Gamora was torn between laughing and crying. And then he saw her and his face fell, as if he suddenly remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be smiling. 

“It’ll be tight, but we should be able to work on the  _ Milano  _ in here, now. Kraglin ready to land?” he asked. All business.

“Yes…” she replied, walking slowly toward the railing nearest him as he wedged his foot and sat on one of the crane arm’s crossbars. “We ran some scans. The… substance seems to be inert. It should not be harmful or interfere with the recovery.”

She studied his face as he nodded and scrubbed something black from his cuticles with the hem of his t-shirt. 

“But you knew that already,” she said softly. He didn’t stop and he didn’t look up at her. “You could have said something.”

“You would have checked anyway,” Peter responded flatly.  

“Mantis tried to explain.” Gamora leaned over the railing and nodded at the woman below, who had busied herself exploring the foreign wonders of the messy workbench against the far bulkhead. “Rocket didn’t like what she had to say.”

“Huh,” Peter grunted. “So that was it.”

“What do you want to do next?” Gamora asked asked. 

“Well,” Peter sighed, looking around. “We’re all set down here. Let’s get planetside and--”

“That’s not what I meant.” Peter didn't answer right away, looking at her then down at his hands.  He kept them moving, she noticed. Scrubbing at his fingertips or gripping the steel of the crane.

“What do you want me to say?” he finally asked after a full minute of silence. 

“I don’t  _ want _ you to say anything, Peter.” 

“It seems like you do.”

“It seems like you’re going to try to make this an argument so I’ll go away.” Gamora crossed her arms and studied him pointedly. He refused to break eye contact, and she could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to consider his next words carefully. 

“Oh my god. That  _ is  _ what you’re trying to do.”

“I didn’t  _ say  _ that,” he replied. 

“You were  _ thinking  _ it.” 

Peter sighed and stood, balancing on the crane arm, and reached up for the truss again. He grabbed the top with both hands and swung himself, hand-over-hand, the five or six feet from the crane to the gangway where Gamora stood. He balanced himself on the railing for a second, then hopped down with practiced ease that could almost even be called graceful. 

After the last couple of months on the  _ Milano _ , it was so clear to her that that little ship was his home. It was  _ his _ place, and he’d made room for them all and it had become theirs. It had been so easy for her to forget--or just not think about, really--the fact that he’d grown up a Ravager. He’d grown up here, on this ship. Working in this hangar, and fixing Ravager M-ships, taking watches and doing chores and being part of a crew here. A crew that wasn’t here--that had killed each other and wasn’t here. 

The  _ Milano  _ was  _ his. _ This place… was something else to him, for better or worse. It was  _ Yondu’s…  _ until it  _ wasn’t  _ Yondu’s. 

And on top of everything… Peter had no choice but to be  _ here  _ right now, being the Peter this ship made him.

What  _ did _ she want him to say? 

Gamora swallowed hard and decided that perhaps the straightforward approach would be best. If Peter got angry with her, so be it… at least it would be a response of substance. If he shut down… She rather hoped he got angry, actually. But maybe… maybe she could frame things rationally. If he didn’t want to ‘talk about it,’ maybe he could at least work through a problem. 

“Rocket has a theory about the substance on Berhert,” she began, walking over to the bulkhead by the entry hatch and sliding down it to sit. Peter followed her slowly and uncertainly, seemingly trying to decide if this was some kind of trap. He stood facing her, leaning against the railing. 

“What theory?” he asked, apparently just a bit curious. 

“Mantis, Drax and I tried to explain about Ego’s… plans…” she said carefully. Peter pursed his lips and nodded. “He believes that other planets were similarly affected.”

Peter’s jaw clenched. And then… he dropped, sitting heavily on the grate of the gangway as if his strings had been cut. And Gamora realized he was looking through her, not at her. 

“How many?” she asked softly.

He shook his head, trying to focus. “Honestly? It felt like…  _ all of them _ . I know it wasn't… even he wasn't that good, but…” he trailed off, shrugging and absently scrubbing at his fingernails again with the hem of his shirt. She figured he probably didn't even know he was doing it. 

Gamora’s eyes narrowed and she shivered a little. Anger, she was prepared for. But this--reflective sincerity?  _ This  _ was unexpected. Suddenly his walls were down… which was what she wanted, right? For him to talk… but it didn’t feel right. But wasn’t this what he needed? 

“What do you mean? It  _ felt  _ like…?” 

“I could feel it. Almost see it… like I was on every planet he was on at the same time, watching… but it was too much to... process… I knew what was happening, but it was too much… it was too much all at once… I couldn’t  _ understand _ it.”

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “And  _ fuck _ , it hurt. And I was so  _ pissed off _ … and I was  _ scared _ , Gamora. I didn’t know where you guys were… and I was  _ there _ with that asshole and I was  _ everywhere else _ at the same time, and I  _ didn’t fucking understand _ until I  _ saw it _ . We got here and I  _ saw it _ and I knew. It just kinda… hit me.” Peter took a deep breath and looked away from her and up at some random spot in the rafters. 

“People died,” he continued softly. “He… planted his seeds near the women he… populated areas. Some not anymore… dead worlds now, thousands of years later, but people died. On Earth. On Xandar. On Krylor. On Hala. On Rajak. On O’erlanii. On Kawa. On Arago. In Andromeda, the Milky Way, Shi’ar… 

“And I  _ know _ It could have been a  _ lot _ worse… and only a fraction of those planets were even inhabited but still... thousands of innocent people... They never should have died. 

“I’ve been… thinking... of all the things along the way that could have prevented it from happening, and you know… not to sound self-important or anything, but it comes down to me, you know? I’m the reason they died. He needed me to pull it off, and if I hadn’t gone to that stupid planet--or if I’d listened to you when you said something was wrong... If I had just seen him for what he really was instead of… being  so…” he paused and winced. 

“Maybe if I hadn’t been so… _trusting_ and... selfish…” Peter said softly, only just above a whisper. “He would have just stayed there _alone_ in his fucking eternity.”

He was the one who “opened himself up to new possibilities,” wasn’t he? She’d fought with him on Ego, her deeply ingrained paranoia proving justified, of course… but she lo-- it was one of the things that drew her to him. What had he called it? A general unselfish love for just about everybody? It was a rare and special thing that, looking at him now, she feared may now be gone forever. 

At some point, Gamora had started crying. Silent tears were slowly trailing down her face. She would never insult him by saying something so trite as ‘I know how you feel,” but she did, at least somewhat. He knew she did. He had to know, as he’d opened the floodgates. Carrying the weight of so many deaths on your shoulders… she understood that well. She was literally built for it. But Peter? Of course, she’d seen him take his share of lives. She’d witnessed him kill--quite effectively--those who would harm his friends and family. Those who threatened innocents. People he believed deserved it. 

Everything he said, she could relate to. He was wielded as a weapon to take lives. His father’s design was to destroy the life of the universe and remake it into… himself. His image. But Peter didn’t see it that way. Peter felt responsible... part of it. Complicit. ‘ _ It was too much all at once. I didn’t understand.’  _ Maybe if he’d understood, he could have stopped it sooner? Maybe, maybe maybe… all he could see was what he thought he’d fucked up. 

And it dawned on her, why this felt so wrong, him suddenly giving in to her with barely a fight and letting it all out. She’d told him that they knew what had happened on Berhert and, by extension, everywhere else… and suddenly he didn’t feel like there was anything to hide or run from anymore, was there? So he confessed his guilt.

She was hearing his  _ confession _ . 

“Peter--”

He shook his head. “I just wanna get my ship, Gamora. Can we just do that? I wanna go home.” He took a deep breath. “After that… I dunno…”

“Yeah, we can do that,” she whispered. Peter nodded. He looked so  _ tired _ all of the sudden, like all of his energy just drained away as he spoke. 

Part of her wished they’d just written off the Milano completely and never come back here. The rational part reminded her that if what Peter said was true--and she believed it was--they would have had to confront... this... sooner or later. 

He’d been coping. He’d handled death before. His lingering anger with Ego had been almost satisfied by the fact that they’d destroyed him. And Yondu… Peter grieved. The funeral had been good for him… for Rocket and Groot, for Kraglin. Even for her, surprisingly enough. She’d really thought things were pretty okay. 

She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

 

 

* * *

 

Groot enjoyed the forest. Even though the last time they were here, bad things happened… it wasn’t actually a bad place. There were lots of bugs to chase. It was nice and cool and humid. And in the daytime, there was sunshine. He liked all of the moss and gloam covering the ground, and it felt good to root into it, digging his “toes” into the fertile topsoil. He could do some good growing here. 

He just tried to ignore the dead patch just barely in sight down the long, rugged part in the trees created by Peter’s “bad landing” a little over a week ago. It was pretty far away… on his little legs, it would take a good while for him to run there. But when the wind gusted from the right direction, he could smell the rot and his face would scrunch up in disgust. 

But… it was nice to be home. Groot could feel everyone’s mood get a little lighter… except the bug lady, who just seemed uncertain as to what she was supposed to do, despite Drax trying to encourage and include her. 

And Kraglin--the closest he came to leaving the big Ravager ship, as far as Groot saw, was bringing tools and other supplies to the open hangar doors. Sometimes, he sat quietly with Rocket or Peter, legs hanging from the edge of the deck, but never hitting the ground. 

The only thing wrong, really… was how  _ quiet _ everything was. Sure, everyone was talking to each other. There were smiles, even a little bit of laughter here and there. The usual affectionate insults. And the unaffectionate ones--but those seemed to be much fewer today, especially between Peter and Rocket. Groot was very glad they were getting along. 

But there wasn’t any music on. Of course, it wasn’t like there was  _ always _ music playing on the Milano, but it was usually in the background somewhere… Peter’s headphones, the tape deck in the crew quarters when they were all working on something. Times like this, exactly. Everybody was working on getting the ship fixed up enough to be hoisted into the big ship’s hangar… and the only one listening to Peter’s music was Groot. 

And, come to think of it, that’s how it had been since they said goodbye to Yondu and he’d climbed onto Peter’s lap to listen to a song with him… Since then, Peter’d made sure the Zune was charged and low enough somewhere for the little tree to reach. But never seemed to listen to it himself. Except when Groot looked up at him and offered him and earbud.

Then Peter would try to smile, and listen for a minute or two, before patting Groot on the head and giving it back. 

Last night, after Rocket yelled at him for dragging the device around the ship by the cord  _ again  _ (It wasn’t Groot’s fault that the plastic box was hard to hold in his tiny wooden hands!), Peter had made a little backpack for him out of a shirt sleeve that he cut into strips and knotted creatively into a little pouch with straps that crossed over Groot’s chest.

_ “So it doesn’t get dirty or scratched up when we’re down in the woods,” _ Peter had said, then wrapped up the cord to shorten it, stuffed the Zune into the pocket, and slipped the whole thing over his arms and head. He loosely tied the cables over Groot’s shoulders, so the buds dangled together at the middle of his chest. Peter clicked the multifunction button in the middle of the device and Groot grinned, holding one of the earbuds up to his head as a brand new song he’d never heard before started playing. 

Peter smiled softly as he’d lifted him down off the table and folded up his worn out old pocket knife.

_ “I am Groot!”  _

_ “Yeah, just be careful with that, okay?” _

_ “I am Groot.”  _

And Groot had bounded off to show Rocket his new present. 

Rocket was less impressed than Groot had expected. 

_ “I am Groot.”  _ He’d shown off to Rocket excitedly, but Rocket looked up from one of the consoles on the bridge and crinkled his snout, his ears folding back. 

_ “Quill made that for ya?” _ Groot nodded happily. Rocket had sighed and leaned down, a little closer to Groot. 

_ “Ya don’t think it’s… wierd? That he’s barely touched that thing since Kraglin gave it to ‘im?” _

Groot frowned.  _ “I am… Grooooot?” _ he had asked softly. 

Rocket’s face softened.  _ “Nah… ya didn’t do anything wrong… Quill loves ya. I’m sure he’s just... bein’… nice and stuff. He’s a sap like that.” _

Rocket had tried to make Groot feel better, but Groot knew that his friend had slipped away to find Gamora as soon as he didn’t think Groot would notice. 

And what Rocket had said made him think. 

And made the quiet around the  _ Milano _ all the more jarring. 

Groot had only listened to the Zune in short spurts throughout the morning, mostly when he went off on his own, distracted by one thing or another around the ship or the campsite or the surrounding woods. Mostly, he just liked to carry it. He’d started to feel like he had an important job--keeping Peter’s music safe for him. For all of them. 

Because Rocket was right… it was weird. And Groot had started to think about it more and more and had started to worry. 

That afternoon, he followed Peter around a little. Quietly sneaking and hiding so he wouldn’t be noticed. 

Peter spent a lot of time in the  _ Milano’s _ cockpit, head and hands stuck in open panels, reaching for tools and spools of wire periodically. Sometimes banging on the side of a console when he got frustrated. 

Groot stood on the top step of the ladder between the pilot and copilot seats. 

Peter worked silently. Mostly. Sometimes he mumbled to himself. But then, to Groot’s delight, he hummed… then sang. A low, melodic murmur that Groot almost didn’t even hear, as Peter’s head (and most of his torso) was below the floor decking in an access compartment for the navigation mainframe. 

“We got a wham. Bam. Shang-a-lang… an’ a sha-la-la-la-la-la thing… Wham. Bam. Hmmm-mm-hmmmm…” he trailed off softly, picking the song back up occasionally as he worked and Groot smiled big. He wanted to run over and start telling Peter about how silly Rocket had been, and can we please start playing music again? He kept the Zune safe for him… he’d realized that must have been what Peter really wanted, by giving it to Groot the way he had, and he’d done a good job--

Peter stopped mid-hum and lifted his head, his whole body freezing up, and Groot gasped, ducking his head below the edge of the hatch. Groot lifted his eyes up over the floor of the cockpit, and saw Peter just laying there on his stomach for a few minutes, like he couldn’t remember what he was doing. 

Groot’s heart sank as it dawned on him that Peter was not actually happy again or back to normal. He hadn’t meant to start singing at all. 

Peter sighed and sat up, running a hand through his hair as he looked around the cockpit, grabbed another tool, and got to work on something else. 

Almost an hour later, Groot had given up on trying to be stealthy, sitting up against one of the grated footrests in front of the pilot’s seat, his little legs out straight in front of him. He idly flicked at one of the earbuds dangling from his neck. 

If Peter knew he was there, he hadn’t said anything. At the moment, he was standing on the arms of the middle seat Gamora usually used so he could reach up into an open junction box. 

“Mmm mm-mm-mm in this harbor town. And she works, layin, whisky down… hmm-mmm hmmm--” 

Groot looked up. Peter was intently focused on connecting a bundle of wires to semi-new conductor plate, lips barely moving against the set of his jaw. Groot grinned as various panels and screens in the cockpit lit up. 

He got to his feet and scampered over to Peter, craning his neck. “I am Groot!” he exclaimed, congratulating his friend. But Peter still had his hands up in the junction box. He looked angry. Silently, Peter furiously finished twisting a couple more wires around another contact. But his hands were shaking. 

“I… am Groot?”

“No, there’s no power to this plate yet. Almost do--” 

Groot reflexively squinted and covered his eyes with his arm as a bright electric blue flash erupted from the open ceiling panel. The lights and monitors that Peter had just managed to power back on... all blinked out. 

Peter was on his back on the deck a couple meters behind the seat he’d been standing on. Groot ran over and breathed a big sigh of relief when he saw his eyes were open. 

“I am…” Groot trailed off. Then tentatively pushed at Peter’s shoulder with both hands. “Groooo?” he moaned, suddenly panicking. 

He climbed onto Peter’s chest and put his ear to his ribcage. He knew he was supposed to hear a “thumping” sound, but there was nothing. For that matter, he should be moving up and down a little… but he wasn’t breathing. 

Eyes wide, Groot banged on Peter’s chest with his balled up fists, trying not to cry. He didn’t know what to do… 

But somebody else would. They had to! 

Groot jumped down and started running for the hatch when he heard a rough gasp and then a loud, painful chain of coughs behind him. He turned and saw Peter, still on his back, but struggling to roll onto his side as the coughing started to slow and he caught his breath.

Groot hesitated for just a moment, considering if he should still go get help from someone bigger.

“Groot--” Peter rasped. Groot couldn’t see his eyes, but suddenly didn’t want to leave him alone. 

He ran into Peter’s line of sight and the tension in his face relaxed. Peter fell back onto his back and just  _ breathed  _ as Groot petted his hand. 

“Glad you’re okay, Groot--came to, and smelled… thought I’d started a fire in the wiring or something, and…” he scrunched his eyes shut. 

“I-- I am… Groo-oot,” he said quietly. Peter looked very confused. 

“I what?”

“I am Groot,” Groot answered, matter of factly. But was sure that the fear he felt was showing on his face, because Peter’s expression softened immediately. His fingers wrapped gently around Groot’s shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, buddy. Electricity sure is a dick, huh? Not the first time it’s put me on my ass. I should have been more careful.”

Groot nodded emphatically, crossing his arms and scowling like the others did when he did something wrong.

Peter snorted and rolled his eyes, pulling his knees up and scooting back to lean against a bulkhead. “I’m fine. Won’t happen again, dad,” he drawled sarcastically. 

Groot didn’t bring up the “D” word… that was one everybody tried not to say around Peter, but there wasn’t a rule about  _ Peter _ saying it, so… 

But for some reason, it made him think about Yondu. And that made him think about the Zune in his backpack. And that made him think about Peter singing while he was working. And that made him think that maybe it was worth a try… 

Maybe he should be getting Rocket or Gamora or Drax. Maybe he should be telling Peter to go back to the big Ravager ship to make sure he was okay. But instead, Groot extended some wiry vines from his fingers and climbed up onto Peter’s knee, holding one of the earbuds out to him. Peter blinked and sighed. 

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Sure. I… need to… uh... clean out my ears from earlier… anyway.” Peter gently pulled the Zune out of Groot’s little pouch and unrolled the earbuds before clicking it on. Groot grinned and pulled himself up onto Peter’s shoulder. 

“I am Groot.” 

“Why that one?”

“I am  _ Groot! _ ” 

Peter smiled. “Rocket wouldn’t want you saying ‘badass.’ But you’ll have to tell me that story sometime.” He put a bud in his other ear and Groot held one up to his head. 

_ In a little cafe just the other side of the border, she was a-sitting there giving me looks that made my mouth water. _

Groot sighed happily. It was nice to be home. It was nice listening to music. It was nice talking to Peter. 

Come to think of it, when had Peter started to understand him so well? 

_ \--but then I heard her say: ‘Come a little bit closer, you’re my kind of man. So big and so strong. Come a little bit closer. I’m all alone, and the night is so long… _

Groot shrugged to himself and closed his eyes, feet twisting in time with the song. 


End file.
